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Lee (2222 KP) rated Queen & Slim (2019) in Movies
Dec 4, 2019
Usually when my local cinema chain hosts a secret screening, it's for a lesser known film that they're hoping to drum up interest and support for. They do occasionally show something a bit more mainstream though (the last one I went to was for an advance showing of Le Mans '66) and a lot of people in the run up to last nights secret screening were actually expecting it to be Little Women. It turned out to be Queen & Slim, a film that I knew very little about, and probably wouldn't have ventured to see at the cinema if I'm honest. Which is obviously the whole idea behind the secret screenings and why they urge you on social media beforehand to stick with it when you discover what it is!
Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) and Slim (Daniel Kaluuya) are at a diner for their first Tinder date and they seem to be getting along, although a second date isn't exactly a definite just yet. As they drive home afterwards, they are pulled over by a white cop for driving erratically (Slim was quickly reaching to grab his phone back from Queen at the time) and for failure to execute a turn signal. There are clearly some racial motives behind the actions of the police officer though, not helped by Slim's impatience as the officer checks through the contents of his car, and the questioning coming from Queen, who works as a defense attorney and knows their rights. Following a heated exchange, a shot is fired and Queen is left with a flesh wound to her leg. An angered Slim then brawls with the cop and, in what is clearly self defense, shoots and kills the officer. Fearing what will happen to them next and the likelihood of further injustice, they decide to go on the run.
What follows is around 40 minutes of pretty tense drama, unexpectedly peppered with some moments of real humour when as the pair find themselves getting into even more difficult situations. As dash-cam footage from the vehicle of the deceased police officer goes viral, there's a real sense of urgency and intensity to their predicament, making for a really intense and gripping roller-coaster of a ride. They make it to New Orleans, and a brief stopover at the home of Queen's Uncle Earl (Bokeem Woodbine), and it's around this point in the movie that momentum gets lost somewhat, never really recovering until the finale.
Written by Lena Waithe (Master of None and Ready Player One), Queen & Slim is clearly a relevant and important movie, boasting a great look and style from director Melina Matsoukas. Daniel Kaluuya is a great choice for Slim too, no stranger to portraying strong emotions with his eyes and facial expressions, as he did so perfectly in his iconic Get Out role. While I wasn't so keen on Jodie Turner-Smith, the pair did work well together, despite making some questionable character choices at times. When a photo of the pair goes viral, they become a kind of modern day Bonnie & Clyde, hailed as heroes and legends by many as they make their way down towards Florida, where they hope to be able catch a flight to freedom in Cuba. Along the way, their relationship develops and they occasionally find support among the black community in each town they stop at.
But, following that stopover in New Orleans, Queen & Slim becomes much more of a slow meander towards the finish line, and it's a real noticeable tonal shift and change of pacing from those first 40 minutes or so. People in the cinema became fidgety (including me), some gave up on the movie completely and left the cinema (I've done that before, vowed never to do it again though) and all I could think about when they get help from some old friends of Queen's Uncle was "Is that Needles, from Back to the Future?" (it was).
All of this shouldn't detract from how important this movie is though, highlighting racial injustice and delving into real issues unashamedly. While Queen & Slim didn't quite work for me overall, it is certainly a story which deserves to be told and seen by many, getting people talking and hopefully instigating some real change. I'm glad I had the chance to see it, and glad I stuck with it right until the end.
Queen (Jodie Turner-Smith) and Slim (Daniel Kaluuya) are at a diner for their first Tinder date and they seem to be getting along, although a second date isn't exactly a definite just yet. As they drive home afterwards, they are pulled over by a white cop for driving erratically (Slim was quickly reaching to grab his phone back from Queen at the time) and for failure to execute a turn signal. There are clearly some racial motives behind the actions of the police officer though, not helped by Slim's impatience as the officer checks through the contents of his car, and the questioning coming from Queen, who works as a defense attorney and knows their rights. Following a heated exchange, a shot is fired and Queen is left with a flesh wound to her leg. An angered Slim then brawls with the cop and, in what is clearly self defense, shoots and kills the officer. Fearing what will happen to them next and the likelihood of further injustice, they decide to go on the run.
What follows is around 40 minutes of pretty tense drama, unexpectedly peppered with some moments of real humour when as the pair find themselves getting into even more difficult situations. As dash-cam footage from the vehicle of the deceased police officer goes viral, there's a real sense of urgency and intensity to their predicament, making for a really intense and gripping roller-coaster of a ride. They make it to New Orleans, and a brief stopover at the home of Queen's Uncle Earl (Bokeem Woodbine), and it's around this point in the movie that momentum gets lost somewhat, never really recovering until the finale.
Written by Lena Waithe (Master of None and Ready Player One), Queen & Slim is clearly a relevant and important movie, boasting a great look and style from director Melina Matsoukas. Daniel Kaluuya is a great choice for Slim too, no stranger to portraying strong emotions with his eyes and facial expressions, as he did so perfectly in his iconic Get Out role. While I wasn't so keen on Jodie Turner-Smith, the pair did work well together, despite making some questionable character choices at times. When a photo of the pair goes viral, they become a kind of modern day Bonnie & Clyde, hailed as heroes and legends by many as they make their way down towards Florida, where they hope to be able catch a flight to freedom in Cuba. Along the way, their relationship develops and they occasionally find support among the black community in each town they stop at.
But, following that stopover in New Orleans, Queen & Slim becomes much more of a slow meander towards the finish line, and it's a real noticeable tonal shift and change of pacing from those first 40 minutes or so. People in the cinema became fidgety (including me), some gave up on the movie completely and left the cinema (I've done that before, vowed never to do it again though) and all I could think about when they get help from some old friends of Queen's Uncle was "Is that Needles, from Back to the Future?" (it was).
All of this shouldn't detract from how important this movie is though, highlighting racial injustice and delving into real issues unashamedly. While Queen & Slim didn't quite work for me overall, it is certainly a story which deserves to be told and seen by many, getting people talking and hopefully instigating some real change. I'm glad I had the chance to see it, and glad I stuck with it right until the end.
Chris Sawin (602 KP) rated Jojo Rabbit (2019) in Movies
Oct 8, 2019
Roman Griffin Davis stars as Jojo Betzler in Taika Waititi’s black comedy Jojo Rabbit. Along with his second best friend Yorki (Archie Yates), Jojo is a part of a Nazi training camp for young boys and girls to become the men and women suited for Hitler supporting soldiers. Meanwhile, Jojo’s mom Rosie (Scarlett Johansson) is secretly hiding a young Jewish girl named Elsa (Thomasin McKenzie) within the walls of their home. Jojo, who is incredibly adamant about Hitler becoming his first best friend, has Hitler as an imaginary friend (portrayed by Taika Waititi) who shows up whenever Jojo seems to need a pep talk.
Based on the 2008 novel Caging Skies by Christine Leunens, Jojo Rabbit is a bonkers twist on one of the most devastating wars and tyrannical madmen in history. On the surface, the film is about a child attempting to become a Nazi because he views HItler as this great leader. He has to attempt to learn to kill, hate Jews, and essentially ignore all of his morals in order to just fit in with an army who believes they are the superior race. The intriguing aspect is that Waititi injects this unexpected tenderness and has concocted a film that has a heartbeat that is entirely too human and too genuine for any sort of project involving the likes of Adolf Hitler.
The Jojo/Hitler dynamic is an incredibly playful one. Hitler only seems to show up when something doesn’t go according to plan for Jojo or he needs some words of encouragement when times get tough. Hitler is a figment of Jojo’s imagination and is completely reactionary to Jojo’s world. If Jojo gets scared, Hitler shows up to remind him why he’s risking his own self comfort. While Waititi is funny and awkwardly charming as Hitler, which is an odd thing to say in itself, don’t overlook Archie Yates. Roman Griffin Davis encapsulates this innocence that even Elsa describes as something along the lines of a ten year old playing dress up with his friends in order to join a club. But Yates often plays off of Davis humorously and amusingly and will likely be forgotten about by some by the time they leave the theater.
Seemingly tapping into his inspiration for Gentlemen Broncos, Sam Rockwell portrays Captain Klenzendorf - a former war veteran who lost an eye and is now forced to teach children how to be soldiers. He has this strange tension on the verge of romance thing going on with his right hand man Finkel (Alfie Allen) and has extravagant taste with intricate ideas for his new uniform. Rockwell and Allen are hilarious and outshine Rebel Wilson’s Fräulein Rahm who never seems to serve much purpose before or after her line about, “having 18 kids for Germany.”
The sweet nature of Jojo Rabbit is expanded upon with the mother/son relationship between Rosie and Jojo. They have completely different viewpoints of a world on the verge of total annihilation where Jojo is slowly nudged into his mother’s mindset. It’s not so much a brainwashing as it is Jojo coming to terms with how he feels about people. Jojo Rabbit defines who we all are on the inside and simply explores the path anyone with an everyday beating heart (not rooted by a tiny mustache) would travel down over the course of their youth.
It’s kind of extraordinary that Jojo Rabbit has been released during a time when Fox Searchlight Pictures is owned by Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures where a guy directing two of the biggest Thor movies did a side project where he plays Hitler and never had to attempt to keep that a secret. Waititi puts Jojo Betzler through the ringer by blowing him up repeatedly and throwing him down a flight of stairs all while being bullied and pushed around the entire time. But dammit if Jojo Rabbit isn’t one of the most heartfelt and imaginative fairy tales of the year.
This is a film where storytelling, embellishing and elongating false reputations, and glorifying urban myths is the driving force of entertainment. Underneath its layers of SS uniforms, dangerous pistols, and knives you should never leave home without, Jojo Rabbit is a touching film about human compassion with an intimacy that is absolutely unparalleled. Categorized somewhere between Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom and an imaginative concept that is an obvious homage to Calvin and Hobbes, love feels like it’s the only thing spreading across the world more powerful than war and Jojo Rabbit is more than happy to hype you up and throw you in love’s way without remorse.
Based on the 2008 novel Caging Skies by Christine Leunens, Jojo Rabbit is a bonkers twist on one of the most devastating wars and tyrannical madmen in history. On the surface, the film is about a child attempting to become a Nazi because he views HItler as this great leader. He has to attempt to learn to kill, hate Jews, and essentially ignore all of his morals in order to just fit in with an army who believes they are the superior race. The intriguing aspect is that Waititi injects this unexpected tenderness and has concocted a film that has a heartbeat that is entirely too human and too genuine for any sort of project involving the likes of Adolf Hitler.
The Jojo/Hitler dynamic is an incredibly playful one. Hitler only seems to show up when something doesn’t go according to plan for Jojo or he needs some words of encouragement when times get tough. Hitler is a figment of Jojo’s imagination and is completely reactionary to Jojo’s world. If Jojo gets scared, Hitler shows up to remind him why he’s risking his own self comfort. While Waititi is funny and awkwardly charming as Hitler, which is an odd thing to say in itself, don’t overlook Archie Yates. Roman Griffin Davis encapsulates this innocence that even Elsa describes as something along the lines of a ten year old playing dress up with his friends in order to join a club. But Yates often plays off of Davis humorously and amusingly and will likely be forgotten about by some by the time they leave the theater.
Seemingly tapping into his inspiration for Gentlemen Broncos, Sam Rockwell portrays Captain Klenzendorf - a former war veteran who lost an eye and is now forced to teach children how to be soldiers. He has this strange tension on the verge of romance thing going on with his right hand man Finkel (Alfie Allen) and has extravagant taste with intricate ideas for his new uniform. Rockwell and Allen are hilarious and outshine Rebel Wilson’s Fräulein Rahm who never seems to serve much purpose before or after her line about, “having 18 kids for Germany.”
The sweet nature of Jojo Rabbit is expanded upon with the mother/son relationship between Rosie and Jojo. They have completely different viewpoints of a world on the verge of total annihilation where Jojo is slowly nudged into his mother’s mindset. It’s not so much a brainwashing as it is Jojo coming to terms with how he feels about people. Jojo Rabbit defines who we all are on the inside and simply explores the path anyone with an everyday beating heart (not rooted by a tiny mustache) would travel down over the course of their youth.
It’s kind of extraordinary that Jojo Rabbit has been released during a time when Fox Searchlight Pictures is owned by Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures where a guy directing two of the biggest Thor movies did a side project where he plays Hitler and never had to attempt to keep that a secret. Waititi puts Jojo Betzler through the ringer by blowing him up repeatedly and throwing him down a flight of stairs all while being bullied and pushed around the entire time. But dammit if Jojo Rabbit isn’t one of the most heartfelt and imaginative fairy tales of the year.
This is a film where storytelling, embellishing and elongating false reputations, and glorifying urban myths is the driving force of entertainment. Underneath its layers of SS uniforms, dangerous pistols, and knives you should never leave home without, Jojo Rabbit is a touching film about human compassion with an intimacy that is absolutely unparalleled. Categorized somewhere between Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom and an imaginative concept that is an obvious homage to Calvin and Hobbes, love feels like it’s the only thing spreading across the world more powerful than war and Jojo Rabbit is more than happy to hype you up and throw you in love’s way without remorse.
I have a tough time reviewing books about Black Feminism. I enjoy reading them - well, maybe "enjoy" isn't quite the right word. They can be tough. I am glad to have read them. But how to review them? I'm a white woman, it's not really my place to critique these works. But it would be remiss of me to not talk about them - denying them the same space on my blog that I give to everything else I read is its own kind of erasure. I'm not sure how best to resolve this, but for this specific book, at least, I can talk about what I learned from it.
What I learned is that some of my childhood was straight-up racist. I always thought of my childhood as pretty idyllic - my parents were high school sweethearts, and to this day still adore each other. We lived in a house my parents owned. (My most formative years were actually spent in the house my mother grew up in; my parents bought it from my grandparents when I was seven.) We got to run around and play on a quiet neighborhood street where we knew all of our neighbors. We had pets of various species, we got technology fairly quickly since my father was a computer geek, we had a garden out back that Mom canned beans out of every year.
But I was homeschooled until eighth grade. (With Bob Jones and Abeka Books, notoriously Christian curriculum. I thought humans lived with dinosaurs well into my twenties.) We went to a conservative Christian church every Sunday. (And Tuesday. And some Fridays.) While my parents taught that I could be anything I wanted to be, the church definitely over rode that with "women should be subservient to men" and "don't trust your own judgment, ask God/your parents/the elders."
The incident that Jerkins' book brought back to mind, though, was a party I went to. I'm pretty sure it was someone's birthday party, but at a church. Not our church. There were a lot of people, though, so I could be wrong about the birthday party. It was this party where I got the tiny scar in my eyebrow - some kid broke the bat on the pinata and threw it behind him, where it hit me in the face. Before that, though, was the cake walk. There were footprints laid out on the concrete floor, and we paced around them while music played, kind of like musical chairs, I think. (I was younger than ten, my memory is a little fuzzy.) I won the cake! I thought nothing of this until reading This Will Be My Undoing.
"The cakewalk was a dance performed in the late nineteenth century at slave get-togethers. You lean or rear back and kick your feet out left and right or vice versa as you move forward......White people would watch them dance, fascinated by the exoticness of it all. These spectacles were purposeful humiliations. But the cakewalk evolved as slaves' own form of subversion. While serving at large and fancy parties in the early 1800s, they would watch well-to-do white people perform strict and stiff dances, like cotillions and quadrilles, and mimic them, exaggerating the bowing and small skips and hops and adding some high steps and jumps. In diaries kept by white people in the antebellum South, the cakewalk is not depicted as a form of satire. After all, why would a sweet slave mock his benevolent master? To white people's eyes, this imitation seemed like flattery. They were delighted that the slaves were attempting their civilized dances. In fact, they would hold competitions and the winning slaves would receive a cake, hence the name. Yet they were being mocked, right in front of their faces."
WHY WAS THIS BEING HELD AT A CHURCH PARTY? I don't recall if it was all white kids, but it probably was. My hometown was not very ethnically diverse. The more I learn - academically, politically, socially, secularly - the more I realize my childhood was pretty fucked up in a lot of different ways. I don't know if it was more or less fucked up than most white kids' childhoods - white supremacy is insidious. I was an ignorant child at the time, but to realize, decades later, how racist holding a cakewalk is, stopped me in my tracks. (Incidentally, this means that calling something "a cakewalk" has its roots in racism, like so many other things in our language. Cakewalks weren't easy - but the best dancers made them look that way.)
So that's what I can say about this book. I learned something about my childhood. Beyond that, all I will offer is that Jerkins is an excellent writer; the book flows well and is an easy read, despite the subject matter not being easy. Read it. It's important.
You can find all my reviews at http://goddessinthestacks.com
What I learned is that some of my childhood was straight-up racist. I always thought of my childhood as pretty idyllic - my parents were high school sweethearts, and to this day still adore each other. We lived in a house my parents owned. (My most formative years were actually spent in the house my mother grew up in; my parents bought it from my grandparents when I was seven.) We got to run around and play on a quiet neighborhood street where we knew all of our neighbors. We had pets of various species, we got technology fairly quickly since my father was a computer geek, we had a garden out back that Mom canned beans out of every year.
But I was homeschooled until eighth grade. (With Bob Jones and Abeka Books, notoriously Christian curriculum. I thought humans lived with dinosaurs well into my twenties.) We went to a conservative Christian church every Sunday. (And Tuesday. And some Fridays.) While my parents taught that I could be anything I wanted to be, the church definitely over rode that with "women should be subservient to men" and "don't trust your own judgment, ask God/your parents/the elders."
The incident that Jerkins' book brought back to mind, though, was a party I went to. I'm pretty sure it was someone's birthday party, but at a church. Not our church. There were a lot of people, though, so I could be wrong about the birthday party. It was this party where I got the tiny scar in my eyebrow - some kid broke the bat on the pinata and threw it behind him, where it hit me in the face. Before that, though, was the cake walk. There were footprints laid out on the concrete floor, and we paced around them while music played, kind of like musical chairs, I think. (I was younger than ten, my memory is a little fuzzy.) I won the cake! I thought nothing of this until reading This Will Be My Undoing.
"The cakewalk was a dance performed in the late nineteenth century at slave get-togethers. You lean or rear back and kick your feet out left and right or vice versa as you move forward......White people would watch them dance, fascinated by the exoticness of it all. These spectacles were purposeful humiliations. But the cakewalk evolved as slaves' own form of subversion. While serving at large and fancy parties in the early 1800s, they would watch well-to-do white people perform strict and stiff dances, like cotillions and quadrilles, and mimic them, exaggerating the bowing and small skips and hops and adding some high steps and jumps. In diaries kept by white people in the antebellum South, the cakewalk is not depicted as a form of satire. After all, why would a sweet slave mock his benevolent master? To white people's eyes, this imitation seemed like flattery. They were delighted that the slaves were attempting their civilized dances. In fact, they would hold competitions and the winning slaves would receive a cake, hence the name. Yet they were being mocked, right in front of their faces."
WHY WAS THIS BEING HELD AT A CHURCH PARTY? I don't recall if it was all white kids, but it probably was. My hometown was not very ethnically diverse. The more I learn - academically, politically, socially, secularly - the more I realize my childhood was pretty fucked up in a lot of different ways. I don't know if it was more or less fucked up than most white kids' childhoods - white supremacy is insidious. I was an ignorant child at the time, but to realize, decades later, how racist holding a cakewalk is, stopped me in my tracks. (Incidentally, this means that calling something "a cakewalk" has its roots in racism, like so many other things in our language. Cakewalks weren't easy - but the best dancers made them look that way.)
So that's what I can say about this book. I learned something about my childhood. Beyond that, all I will offer is that Jerkins is an excellent writer; the book flows well and is an easy read, despite the subject matter not being easy. Read it. It's important.
You can find all my reviews at http://goddessinthestacks.com
Gareth von Kallenbach (977 KP) rated The Girl in the Spider's Web (2018) in Movies
Jul 2, 2019
There has definitely been a shift in the characters that women are portraying in the movies. No longer happy to be relegated to the damsel in distress who is looking for their Prince Charming to rescue them, they become bad-ass avengers who aren’t afraid to kick-butt and take names. There is no better example of this than Lisbeth Salander, everyone’s favorite goth super-hacker and vigilante. In The Girl in the Spider’s Web, based on the best-selling novel of the same name, we see Lisbeth at her finest and it is an action packed, butt kicking good time.
Lisbeth (Claire Foy) leads a life as a vigilante who targets men that abuse woman ensuring they pay for their evil deeds. She’s not afraid to play hardball and threaten their very existence to ensure that justice is served. In the middle of punishing all the right people, Lisbeth receives a hacking opportunity that she can’t refuse, involving an application where simply logging in allows you to take over the world’s nuclear weapons. This super application was originally created and sold to the NSA in Washington and Lisbeth is tasked with stealing it back and returning it to the original creator so that it can be properly destroyed. Lisbeth successfully steals the application but that then makes her the target of not only the NSA whom she had stolen it from originally, but also another secretive group who has their own nefarious plans.
The film quickly goes from Lisbeth and her “simple” vigilante ways to becoming a global thriller that spans multiple countries and agencies. Not only does the plot change quickly but Lisbeth’s character also morph’s from being a Black Canary type vigilante to becoming a female version of Mission Impossible’s Ethan Hunt. Even though playing a female Ethan Hunt is different from Lisbeth’s usual trope her skills fit nicely into her new role. Her ability to hack into any computer system comes in handy quite a few times and lets us have a tie to the Lisbeth we know and love, but we also get to see her flex her wits and general bad-assery a bit deeper during her “impossible mission”. The film was definitely not what I expected but I was still pleasantly surprised.
The Swedish setting where the movie takes place was gorgeous and varies from desolate abandoned buildings to chases in the middle of sprawling cities. It utilizes the snow-covered landscape and decrepit buildings to create a sense of isolation, even when the streets themselves are packed with cars. Along with the isolation from the setting we also see the use of both old and new technology, which gives a low-tech feel to what is an otherwise a high stakes mission. Both the setting and the technology allows us to see that Lisbeth is a force to be reckoned with no matter what type of adversity she faces.
Which brings me to the one of the best parts of the movie and that is Claire Foy’s absolutely amazing portrayal of Lisbeth. We already knew she did a great job playing a royal in The Crown and as the wife of astronaut Neil Armstrong in First Man but relinquishing her usual elegant and classy portrayals to spectacularly play one of the biggest, baddest female characters around shows the true depth of her talent. She is definitely the star of the show and now I am an even bigger fan of hers than I already was. I was also impressed with the other main characters, including investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Sverrir Gudnason), who plays less of role than in the original The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo but does a great job nonetheless, and the young boy, August Balder (Christopher Convery) that holds the key to the entire mission excellently played by Christopher Convery. The trio make an unusual team, but how the characters (and actors) play on each other’s strengths and weaknesses to complement each other brings heart to a movie that could have easily been 100% an action adventure.
The one aspect I feel could (and should) have been fleshed out more, was Lisbeth’s character as a battered woman’s vigilante. The movie started off with a very strong vigilante scene, but the vigilante theme is quickly forgotten until the very end of the film where we find out it was the sole catalyst of the main adversary. This oversight sadly turned what could have been a woman’s justice vigilante movie into a more run-of-the-mill super spy movie. That’s not necessarily bad, it is still action packed and full of twists and turns, but it’s definitely a missed opportunity to show more of who Lisbeth is.
The Girl in the Spider’s Web is filled with action, gadgets, and car chases though beautiful scenery and it is an excellent movie to see if you are looking for something different than green grinches and Nazi zombies. It’s not the movie I went in expecting to see, but I’m not complaining as it is still a solid film. Even though it diverts away from the more artistic The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo it is a very good action-packed thriller that would stack up nicely next to the Mission Impossible movies it is reminiscent of. It’s definitely a movie I recommend to action movie fans everywhere.
Lisbeth (Claire Foy) leads a life as a vigilante who targets men that abuse woman ensuring they pay for their evil deeds. She’s not afraid to play hardball and threaten their very existence to ensure that justice is served. In the middle of punishing all the right people, Lisbeth receives a hacking opportunity that she can’t refuse, involving an application where simply logging in allows you to take over the world’s nuclear weapons. This super application was originally created and sold to the NSA in Washington and Lisbeth is tasked with stealing it back and returning it to the original creator so that it can be properly destroyed. Lisbeth successfully steals the application but that then makes her the target of not only the NSA whom she had stolen it from originally, but also another secretive group who has their own nefarious plans.
The film quickly goes from Lisbeth and her “simple” vigilante ways to becoming a global thriller that spans multiple countries and agencies. Not only does the plot change quickly but Lisbeth’s character also morph’s from being a Black Canary type vigilante to becoming a female version of Mission Impossible’s Ethan Hunt. Even though playing a female Ethan Hunt is different from Lisbeth’s usual trope her skills fit nicely into her new role. Her ability to hack into any computer system comes in handy quite a few times and lets us have a tie to the Lisbeth we know and love, but we also get to see her flex her wits and general bad-assery a bit deeper during her “impossible mission”. The film was definitely not what I expected but I was still pleasantly surprised.
The Swedish setting where the movie takes place was gorgeous and varies from desolate abandoned buildings to chases in the middle of sprawling cities. It utilizes the snow-covered landscape and decrepit buildings to create a sense of isolation, even when the streets themselves are packed with cars. Along with the isolation from the setting we also see the use of both old and new technology, which gives a low-tech feel to what is an otherwise a high stakes mission. Both the setting and the technology allows us to see that Lisbeth is a force to be reckoned with no matter what type of adversity she faces.
Which brings me to the one of the best parts of the movie and that is Claire Foy’s absolutely amazing portrayal of Lisbeth. We already knew she did a great job playing a royal in The Crown and as the wife of astronaut Neil Armstrong in First Man but relinquishing her usual elegant and classy portrayals to spectacularly play one of the biggest, baddest female characters around shows the true depth of her talent. She is definitely the star of the show and now I am an even bigger fan of hers than I already was. I was also impressed with the other main characters, including investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Sverrir Gudnason), who plays less of role than in the original The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo but does a great job nonetheless, and the young boy, August Balder (Christopher Convery) that holds the key to the entire mission excellently played by Christopher Convery. The trio make an unusual team, but how the characters (and actors) play on each other’s strengths and weaknesses to complement each other brings heart to a movie that could have easily been 100% an action adventure.
The one aspect I feel could (and should) have been fleshed out more, was Lisbeth’s character as a battered woman’s vigilante. The movie started off with a very strong vigilante scene, but the vigilante theme is quickly forgotten until the very end of the film where we find out it was the sole catalyst of the main adversary. This oversight sadly turned what could have been a woman’s justice vigilante movie into a more run-of-the-mill super spy movie. That’s not necessarily bad, it is still action packed and full of twists and turns, but it’s definitely a missed opportunity to show more of who Lisbeth is.
The Girl in the Spider’s Web is filled with action, gadgets, and car chases though beautiful scenery and it is an excellent movie to see if you are looking for something different than green grinches and Nazi zombies. It’s not the movie I went in expecting to see, but I’m not complaining as it is still a solid film. Even though it diverts away from the more artistic The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo it is a very good action-packed thriller that would stack up nicely next to the Mission Impossible movies it is reminiscent of. It’s definitely a movie I recommend to action movie fans everywhere.
Writing (3 more)
No character development
Too many inconsistencies
Too many chapters
Errin Stowell's new novel series starts with Covet Not which is about a middle-aged lawyer named Sam Sparks - - - who is referred to as Sparks nearly the entire story - - - whose fiancee goes missing and he then becomes the prime suspect. Before everything happens though, readers see that Sparks spends his time trying to defend the elderly from home foreclosures as a small-time lawyer.
If this sounds like a synopsis for a John Grisham novel, you wouldn't be far off because Stowell has the potential to be the next one. This is only the first novel I've read by Stowell, but the one thing I noticed mostly in this story was the amount of inconsistencies and amateur writing mistakes; with better editing and consistency, his books could very well hit mainstream.
Also, Covet Not had so many chapters, so much so that scenes were chopped in half and made into entirely new chapters. The book ended up having 48 chapters within 158 pages. This amount could have easily been shortened and helped with the flow of the story if Stowell had just continued onwards with scenes rather then cutting them short or just skipping parts completely.
The novel starts with a man called Skinny who is enjoying his growing infamy on the dark web (he records himself murdering women then uploads it for his audience to enjoy). Here is how Stowell describes Skinny's thought process:
" Skinny took a black ski mask from the duffel bag and put it on before carrying the bag into the camera's frame and placing it near the woman. He began unpacking other items from the bag. It was slow work, deliberately slow for the camera. Skinny intended to have a before and after view for each tool. It was important to show the proper use of tools. The viewers always appreciated that. "
When we switch over to Sparks, we find him after a long day of work, speaking with a journalist named Gina, his fiancee, who is telling him one of her co-workers stole her story, but no one has heard from her in two days. Yet, they both agree that she's probably holed up with one of the producers, and instead, get into a small argument about Sparks never supporting Gina - - - a constant habit of arguing is almost every interaction between the two throughout the entire novel.
Soon after, Sparks introduces us to his uncle Jimmy, who is being housed at a retirement home: " The old man was seated in a wheelchair; his left leg had been amputated just below the knee a few years before, the result of allowing an ingrown toenail to fester to gangrene. Jimmy's barrel chest and solid upper body contrasted with his wasting legs. "
As Sparks continues to visit his uncle in the retirement home, he keeps running into a cute nurse named Darlene, who quickly sets her sights on him. She goes so far out of her way to get Sparks and Gina to separate that she sends him nude photos of herself from a burner phone. Fortunately, Sparks has bigger fish to fry when he hears over his car radio that Gina's co-worker was now being treated as a missing person case, causing Sparks to quickly jump to the conclusion that Gina possibly was responsible for it.
However, Stowell throws in an expected curveball by making our villain, Skinny, work at the retirement home. When he comes in to take care of a patient while Sparks is present, it's too easy to guess that this patient was going to end up dead soon. Sparks, expectedly, has a bad feeling about this male nurse, but dismisses it and believes that the patient died by natural causes. Life goes on.
Stowell's novel, with a great plot, was just too focused on ending the story, that after page 50, it seemed as if Stowell didn't care what happened to these characters, just as long as he finished the book. At one point, readers are told that Sparks doesn't drink alcohol, but it's never explained why he doesn't which would have given a bite of character development; another scene, Sparks finds a phone, but doesn't want to give it to police, instead he states that he has a 'friend' in the police department who can go through it as a favor, but this 'friend' is completely forgotten, as if Sparks never mentioned him, and the former is left dumbfounded as to how to get into the phone.
There's a story here and characters that could be more well-rounded, but I honestly found myself not caring the least bit about any of the characters' well-being, especially Sparks - - - someone who comes off as inept, someone who has to be told what to do in order for anything to get done - - - he's like a lost child running blindly throughout the book. The story needs to be longer with more emphasis given to mundane scenes that will allow readers to chew on a piece of Sparks' daily life because, by the end of the book, we needed a full picture of every major character, not a Jackson Pollock.
If this sounds like a synopsis for a John Grisham novel, you wouldn't be far off because Stowell has the potential to be the next one. This is only the first novel I've read by Stowell, but the one thing I noticed mostly in this story was the amount of inconsistencies and amateur writing mistakes; with better editing and consistency, his books could very well hit mainstream.
Also, Covet Not had so many chapters, so much so that scenes were chopped in half and made into entirely new chapters. The book ended up having 48 chapters within 158 pages. This amount could have easily been shortened and helped with the flow of the story if Stowell had just continued onwards with scenes rather then cutting them short or just skipping parts completely.
The novel starts with a man called Skinny who is enjoying his growing infamy on the dark web (he records himself murdering women then uploads it for his audience to enjoy). Here is how Stowell describes Skinny's thought process:
" Skinny took a black ski mask from the duffel bag and put it on before carrying the bag into the camera's frame and placing it near the woman. He began unpacking other items from the bag. It was slow work, deliberately slow for the camera. Skinny intended to have a before and after view for each tool. It was important to show the proper use of tools. The viewers always appreciated that. "
When we switch over to Sparks, we find him after a long day of work, speaking with a journalist named Gina, his fiancee, who is telling him one of her co-workers stole her story, but no one has heard from her in two days. Yet, they both agree that she's probably holed up with one of the producers, and instead, get into a small argument about Sparks never supporting Gina - - - a constant habit of arguing is almost every interaction between the two throughout the entire novel.
Soon after, Sparks introduces us to his uncle Jimmy, who is being housed at a retirement home: " The old man was seated in a wheelchair; his left leg had been amputated just below the knee a few years before, the result of allowing an ingrown toenail to fester to gangrene. Jimmy's barrel chest and solid upper body contrasted with his wasting legs. "
As Sparks continues to visit his uncle in the retirement home, he keeps running into a cute nurse named Darlene, who quickly sets her sights on him. She goes so far out of her way to get Sparks and Gina to separate that she sends him nude photos of herself from a burner phone. Fortunately, Sparks has bigger fish to fry when he hears over his car radio that Gina's co-worker was now being treated as a missing person case, causing Sparks to quickly jump to the conclusion that Gina possibly was responsible for it.
However, Stowell throws in an expected curveball by making our villain, Skinny, work at the retirement home. When he comes in to take care of a patient while Sparks is present, it's too easy to guess that this patient was going to end up dead soon. Sparks, expectedly, has a bad feeling about this male nurse, but dismisses it and believes that the patient died by natural causes. Life goes on.
Stowell's novel, with a great plot, was just too focused on ending the story, that after page 50, it seemed as if Stowell didn't care what happened to these characters, just as long as he finished the book. At one point, readers are told that Sparks doesn't drink alcohol, but it's never explained why he doesn't which would have given a bite of character development; another scene, Sparks finds a phone, but doesn't want to give it to police, instead he states that he has a 'friend' in the police department who can go through it as a favor, but this 'friend' is completely forgotten, as if Sparks never mentioned him, and the former is left dumbfounded as to how to get into the phone.
There's a story here and characters that could be more well-rounded, but I honestly found myself not caring the least bit about any of the characters' well-being, especially Sparks - - - someone who comes off as inept, someone who has to be told what to do in order for anything to get done - - - he's like a lost child running blindly throughout the book. The story needs to be longer with more emphasis given to mundane scenes that will allow readers to chew on a piece of Sparks' daily life because, by the end of the book, we needed a full picture of every major character, not a Jackson Pollock.
Hadley (567 KP) rated The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness in Books
Jan 18, 2021
History (1 more)
Well-written
H.H. Holmes had many aliases and lives.
He's been a doctor and a licensed pharmacist, who then conned an old couple into selling their drug store to him where he preyed on young girls and ignorant customers that would buy whatever Holmes would tell them to buy, whether it were real or fake tonics.
He was a building owner who had a murder hotel secretly built with " a wooden chute that would descend from a secret location on the second floor all the way to the basement... ", "a room next to his office fitted with a large walk-in vault, with airtight seams and asbestos-coated iron walls. A gas jet embedded in one wall would be controlled from his closet...", "a large basement with hidden chambers and a sub-basement for the permanent storage of sensitive material. "
He owned and ran an alcohol-treatment company known as the Silver Ash Institute that claimed to have the cure for alcoholism.
He was a traveling business man, who had two wives and two children. He established the Campbell-Yates Manufacturing Company, which made nothing and sold nothing.
He was also labeled as America's first serial killer. His body count is unknown even today; his victims were frequently young women, which included stenographers and house wives. He was best known for convincing people who trusted him to sign him as the beneficiary of their life insurance policies, only to kill them and make it seem an accident so he could collect the money.
Holmes grew up in a small farming village in New Hampshire, where he briefly spoke about an early fear of a human skeleton that hung in a doctor's office: " 'I had daily to pass the office of one village doctor, the door of which was seldom if ever barred,' he wrote in a later memoir. 'Partly from its being associated in my mind as the source of all the nauseous mixtures that had been my childish terror (for this was before the day of children's medicines), and partly because of vague rumors I had heard regarding its contents, this place was one of peculiar abhorrence to me.' "... "Two children discovered Mudgett's [Holmes' real last name] fear and one day captured him and dragged him 'struggling and shrieking' into the doctor's office. 'Nor did they desist,' Mudgett wrote, 'until I had been brought face to face with one of its grinning skeletons, which, with arms outstretched, seemed ready in its turn to seize me. It was a wicked and dangerous thing to do to a child of tender years and health,' he wrote, ' but it proved an heroic method of treatment, destined ultimately to cure me of my fears, and to inculcate in me, first, a strong feeling of curiosity, and, later, a desire to learn, which resulted years afterwards in my adopting medicine as a profession.' "
Erik Larson's fourth book, the Devil in the White City, is only partly about Holmes and his dark trail of murder and lies. The story told is mostly centered around the planning and building of the 1893 World's Fair. The prologue opens with one of the architects aboard a ship long after the fair has ended - - - 1912 to be exact- - - where he begins to write of the fair in his diary. The next chapter continues on with Chicago competing against other major cities to win the rights to host the World's Fair. Chicago was not the ideal place for the fair because it was known for it's crime and slaughter houses - - - this was exactly why the politicians wanted it so badly there, so it would help to lighten the image of Chicago for the rest of the world. Even the local Whitechapel Club that had sprouted up after the infamous murders by Jack the Ripper, were excited to win the rights to host the fair in their city, and celebrated in a macabre way:
"Upon learning that Chicago had won the fair, the men of the Whitechapel Club composed a telegram to Chauncey Depew, who more than any other man symbolized New York and its campaign to win the fair. Previously Depew had promised the members of the Whitechapel Club that if Chicago prevailed he would present himself at the club's next meeting, to be hacked apart by the Ripper himself - - - metaphorically, he presumed, although at the Whitechapel Club could one ever be certain? The club's coffin, for example, had once been used to transport the body of a member who had committed suicide. After claiming his body, the club hauled it to the Indiana Dunes on Lake Michigan, where members erected an immense pyre. They placed the body on top, then set it alight. Carrying torches and wearing black hooded robes, they circled the fire singing hymns to the dead between sips of whiskey. The club also had a custom of sending robed members to kidnap visiting celebrities and steal them away in a black coach with covered windows, all without saying a word.
The club's telegram reached Depew in Washington twenty minutes after the final ballot, just as Chicago's congressional delegation began celebrating at the Willard Hotel near the White House. The telegram asked, 'When may we see you at our dissecting table?' "
There are chapters in-between, technically reading like a side story, that tell us about Holmes and his misdeeds in Chicago, but there just wasn't enough about Holmes that I could consider this a True Crime book, nor an informative book about Holmes. Unfortunately, when the reader begins to really dwell into the story of Holmes, it's quickly ended by having two or more chapters about the building of the World's Fair. One interesting point about the story is that the reader does get to see how many inventions were brought to light because of the Fair, such as the invention of the Ferris Wheel. Larson's writing is very coherent and the descriptions are so well done that the reader is practically transported back to the late 1800s, yet, before I finished the book, I felt misled by the title... then coming across everything that happened to not only the Fair, but the people who were involved with it, it's hard not to wonder if the whole thing was cursed, thus the Devil being in the White City.
One of the side stories I did really enjoy was the slow unfolding of a man named Prendergast. A delusional young man who ran one of the groups of paperboys in Chicago, who was also obsessed with politics, became a determined supporter of Mayor Harrison; after Harrison was voted into office again, Prendergast believed it was because of him and the letters he sent out to numerous politicians and potential voters. Prendergast also believed he deserved a chair on the council for Harrison's re-election, for which he even showed up at City Hall to take over. This incident was the straw that broke the camel's back for Prendergast - - - he was humiliated when the people there laughed in his face. Prendergast then decided to take matters into his own hands, and bought a revolver. The day before the Fair would end, Prendergast showed up at Harrison's home and shot him. Harrison died minutes later. Prendergast turned himself in for the murder as soon as he left Harrison's residence. When asked why he had done it, Prendergast responded: " ' Because he betrayed my confidence. I supported him through his campaign and he promised to appoint me corporation counsel. He didn't live up to his word.' "
This book has been voted as a top True Crime must-read novel. I don't agree with this. As I said before: Holmes' chapters are few; eighty percent of this book is about the building of the World's Fair. As a True Crime junkie, I didn't enjoy this one, but also as a history junkie, I enjoyed learning about the Fair and everything that happened. I can't recommend this book to TC fans or horror fans. It's mostly history and architecture.
He's been a doctor and a licensed pharmacist, who then conned an old couple into selling their drug store to him where he preyed on young girls and ignorant customers that would buy whatever Holmes would tell them to buy, whether it were real or fake tonics.
He was a building owner who had a murder hotel secretly built with " a wooden chute that would descend from a secret location on the second floor all the way to the basement... ", "a room next to his office fitted with a large walk-in vault, with airtight seams and asbestos-coated iron walls. A gas jet embedded in one wall would be controlled from his closet...", "a large basement with hidden chambers and a sub-basement for the permanent storage of sensitive material. "
He owned and ran an alcohol-treatment company known as the Silver Ash Institute that claimed to have the cure for alcoholism.
He was a traveling business man, who had two wives and two children. He established the Campbell-Yates Manufacturing Company, which made nothing and sold nothing.
He was also labeled as America's first serial killer. His body count is unknown even today; his victims were frequently young women, which included stenographers and house wives. He was best known for convincing people who trusted him to sign him as the beneficiary of their life insurance policies, only to kill them and make it seem an accident so he could collect the money.
Holmes grew up in a small farming village in New Hampshire, where he briefly spoke about an early fear of a human skeleton that hung in a doctor's office: " 'I had daily to pass the office of one village doctor, the door of which was seldom if ever barred,' he wrote in a later memoir. 'Partly from its being associated in my mind as the source of all the nauseous mixtures that had been my childish terror (for this was before the day of children's medicines), and partly because of vague rumors I had heard regarding its contents, this place was one of peculiar abhorrence to me.' "... "Two children discovered Mudgett's [Holmes' real last name] fear and one day captured him and dragged him 'struggling and shrieking' into the doctor's office. 'Nor did they desist,' Mudgett wrote, 'until I had been brought face to face with one of its grinning skeletons, which, with arms outstretched, seemed ready in its turn to seize me. It was a wicked and dangerous thing to do to a child of tender years and health,' he wrote, ' but it proved an heroic method of treatment, destined ultimately to cure me of my fears, and to inculcate in me, first, a strong feeling of curiosity, and, later, a desire to learn, which resulted years afterwards in my adopting medicine as a profession.' "
Erik Larson's fourth book, the Devil in the White City, is only partly about Holmes and his dark trail of murder and lies. The story told is mostly centered around the planning and building of the 1893 World's Fair. The prologue opens with one of the architects aboard a ship long after the fair has ended - - - 1912 to be exact- - - where he begins to write of the fair in his diary. The next chapter continues on with Chicago competing against other major cities to win the rights to host the World's Fair. Chicago was not the ideal place for the fair because it was known for it's crime and slaughter houses - - - this was exactly why the politicians wanted it so badly there, so it would help to lighten the image of Chicago for the rest of the world. Even the local Whitechapel Club that had sprouted up after the infamous murders by Jack the Ripper, were excited to win the rights to host the fair in their city, and celebrated in a macabre way:
"Upon learning that Chicago had won the fair, the men of the Whitechapel Club composed a telegram to Chauncey Depew, who more than any other man symbolized New York and its campaign to win the fair. Previously Depew had promised the members of the Whitechapel Club that if Chicago prevailed he would present himself at the club's next meeting, to be hacked apart by the Ripper himself - - - metaphorically, he presumed, although at the Whitechapel Club could one ever be certain? The club's coffin, for example, had once been used to transport the body of a member who had committed suicide. After claiming his body, the club hauled it to the Indiana Dunes on Lake Michigan, where members erected an immense pyre. They placed the body on top, then set it alight. Carrying torches and wearing black hooded robes, they circled the fire singing hymns to the dead between sips of whiskey. The club also had a custom of sending robed members to kidnap visiting celebrities and steal them away in a black coach with covered windows, all without saying a word.
The club's telegram reached Depew in Washington twenty minutes after the final ballot, just as Chicago's congressional delegation began celebrating at the Willard Hotel near the White House. The telegram asked, 'When may we see you at our dissecting table?' "
There are chapters in-between, technically reading like a side story, that tell us about Holmes and his misdeeds in Chicago, but there just wasn't enough about Holmes that I could consider this a True Crime book, nor an informative book about Holmes. Unfortunately, when the reader begins to really dwell into the story of Holmes, it's quickly ended by having two or more chapters about the building of the World's Fair. One interesting point about the story is that the reader does get to see how many inventions were brought to light because of the Fair, such as the invention of the Ferris Wheel. Larson's writing is very coherent and the descriptions are so well done that the reader is practically transported back to the late 1800s, yet, before I finished the book, I felt misled by the title... then coming across everything that happened to not only the Fair, but the people who were involved with it, it's hard not to wonder if the whole thing was cursed, thus the Devil being in the White City.
One of the side stories I did really enjoy was the slow unfolding of a man named Prendergast. A delusional young man who ran one of the groups of paperboys in Chicago, who was also obsessed with politics, became a determined supporter of Mayor Harrison; after Harrison was voted into office again, Prendergast believed it was because of him and the letters he sent out to numerous politicians and potential voters. Prendergast also believed he deserved a chair on the council for Harrison's re-election, for which he even showed up at City Hall to take over. This incident was the straw that broke the camel's back for Prendergast - - - he was humiliated when the people there laughed in his face. Prendergast then decided to take matters into his own hands, and bought a revolver. The day before the Fair would end, Prendergast showed up at Harrison's home and shot him. Harrison died minutes later. Prendergast turned himself in for the murder as soon as he left Harrison's residence. When asked why he had done it, Prendergast responded: " ' Because he betrayed my confidence. I supported him through his campaign and he promised to appoint me corporation counsel. He didn't live up to his word.' "
This book has been voted as a top True Crime must-read novel. I don't agree with this. As I said before: Holmes' chapters are few; eighty percent of this book is about the building of the World's Fair. As a True Crime junkie, I didn't enjoy this one, but also as a history junkie, I enjoyed learning about the Fair and everything that happened. I can't recommend this book to TC fans or horror fans. It's mostly history and architecture.
Justin Patchett (42 KP) rated Roma (2018) in Movies
Mar 3, 2019
Caught in a bad Roma
Contains spoilers, click to show
It’s been a long while since I watched a film deserving of a truly, harshly negative review. I have gotten so close so many times, and I’ll be damned if Netflix hadn’t gotten close to earning that with the fridge-logic that ruined Bird Box. Even Bird Box, though, feels enjoyable in retrospect compared to another Netflix exclusive: Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma.
Since I’m in a clear minority on this film, I feel obligated to preemptively address some common criticisms. If Roma had been produced in English, presented in color and with any score, it couldn’t fix the fact that I simply dislike Roma’s genre. Sure, I’ve liked slice-of-life drama films, and modern period pieces do fine by me. Pretentious Oscar-farming arthouse flicks like this, though, never win my praise.
Roma follows Cleo, a housemaid in Mexico City. Cleo has gotten pregnant and the presumed father, Fermín, leaves her to buy cigarettes before the baby’s even born. Her employer, Sofía, is dealing with a cheating spouse. What follows is two hours of both of these women marginally helping each other with their respective situations. As slice-of-life films do.
Since it's a slice-of-life film, much of the story just basically happens. You'll remember a scene here or there that happened, even if it was ultimately insignificant. In one scene for instance, Cleo goes to confront the baby daddy, who’s at a huge martial arts class. She spectates and proves to be the only one able to perform a certain yoga pose. Which is important because it helped add another few minutes to the film.
Cleo goes into labor not long after this confrontation, but her daughter ends up being stillborn. This all happens in the midst of the Corpus Christi Massacre. What the heck was the Corpus Christi Massacre, you may ask? According to this film, it was a brutal inconvenience on Cleo’s way to the hospital after her water breaks. This actual historical event simply happens and is never addressed for one second more. You know, just like in Titanic where the shipwreck just makes things inconvenient for Rose and Jack.
The last major scene in the film comes when Sofía invites Cleo to come with her family on a trip to the beach, not as staff but to help Cleo cope with the tragedy of losing her child. While they’re there, Sofía leaves the children in Cleo’s care for two freaking minutes, and two of the kids nearly drown. Cleo, though, can’t swim, and so she stands out in the water as the kids rescue each other. And that's about as close as Roma gets to a cohesive plot. Cleo only came with them to help her grieving, which meant she could be there to be powerless while her employer’s kids save each other’s lives. Bad things happen to us, the film teaches, so that good things can coincidentally happen in our proximity.
In fact, coincidence seems to be the running theme, here. Remember the Corpus Christi Massacre? No? What if I call it “the scene where Cleo goes into labor”? Maybe that helps? Fermín briefly held Cleo at gunpoint in the middle of it. Again, mere coincidence. Just like it’s a mere coincidence that she goes into labor the same day as a massacre that killed 120 people. As coincidences do.
Roma isn’t an aggressively bad film. There are a rare few moments within Roma’s 2-hour runtime where you think, “I can see that clip showing up during a Facebook video binge,” but again: These are moments more rare than our current president ordering a rare steak. That rarity has everything to do with the fact that the movie has so few moments, at all. The rest is shots that linger too long from angles that repeat themselves all too often. It’s like Cuarón asked someone, “What does a movie like Juno need to be better?” They responded, “Nothing.” So Cuarón packed Roma with nothing.
Which brings up one of my biggest criticisms of Roma: The cinematography is bland. Cuarón shot practically the entire film on one camera, set a specific distance from the subject, and kept takes running as longer than they should have, padding out a short-film’s worth of content to feature length. It’s bland cinematography that somehow earned an Oscar for Best Cinematography.
Gravity showed us what Cuarón was capable of. Beyond bringing a seemingly authentic view of space to the big screen, Gravity offered variety. Yes, the huge collision scene in Gravity takes on the feel of a one-take scene, but even then, the camera moves with the action. And if your attention moves away from the foreground the shot, you’re able to see other important things going on. With Roma, though, your foreground is your film. Period. And to be sure, you'll be kept at arm's length from that foreground at all times, both metaphorically and cinematically.
There's a number of reasons why Roma wasn't the Best Picture, this year. Gravity proved that Roma is not Cuarón’s best film. Bo Burnham–yes, that Bo Burnham–wrote and directed a better slice-of-life film with Eighth Grade. And Roma might not even be the past year’s best black-and-white film; I dare suggest that Cold War may have been better.
To give it the credit it’s due, Roma’s cast rightly earned nominations for their performances. Yalitza Aparicio and Marina de Tavira earned Best Actress nominations for their roles, and for their part, their performances were authentic as can be. It's the least the Academy could do for having them endure Cuarón's lengthy takes.
But now that I've given it credit, I demand my time back for the scene of Fermín going Star Wars Kid meets Full Monty.
Since I’m in a clear minority on this film, I feel obligated to preemptively address some common criticisms. If Roma had been produced in English, presented in color and with any score, it couldn’t fix the fact that I simply dislike Roma’s genre. Sure, I’ve liked slice-of-life drama films, and modern period pieces do fine by me. Pretentious Oscar-farming arthouse flicks like this, though, never win my praise.
Roma follows Cleo, a housemaid in Mexico City. Cleo has gotten pregnant and the presumed father, Fermín, leaves her to buy cigarettes before the baby’s even born. Her employer, Sofía, is dealing with a cheating spouse. What follows is two hours of both of these women marginally helping each other with their respective situations. As slice-of-life films do.
Since it's a slice-of-life film, much of the story just basically happens. You'll remember a scene here or there that happened, even if it was ultimately insignificant. In one scene for instance, Cleo goes to confront the baby daddy, who’s at a huge martial arts class. She spectates and proves to be the only one able to perform a certain yoga pose. Which is important because it helped add another few minutes to the film.
Cleo goes into labor not long after this confrontation, but her daughter ends up being stillborn. This all happens in the midst of the Corpus Christi Massacre. What the heck was the Corpus Christi Massacre, you may ask? According to this film, it was a brutal inconvenience on Cleo’s way to the hospital after her water breaks. This actual historical event simply happens and is never addressed for one second more. You know, just like in Titanic where the shipwreck just makes things inconvenient for Rose and Jack.
The last major scene in the film comes when Sofía invites Cleo to come with her family on a trip to the beach, not as staff but to help Cleo cope with the tragedy of losing her child. While they’re there, Sofía leaves the children in Cleo’s care for two freaking minutes, and two of the kids nearly drown. Cleo, though, can’t swim, and so she stands out in the water as the kids rescue each other. And that's about as close as Roma gets to a cohesive plot. Cleo only came with them to help her grieving, which meant she could be there to be powerless while her employer’s kids save each other’s lives. Bad things happen to us, the film teaches, so that good things can coincidentally happen in our proximity.
In fact, coincidence seems to be the running theme, here. Remember the Corpus Christi Massacre? No? What if I call it “the scene where Cleo goes into labor”? Maybe that helps? Fermín briefly held Cleo at gunpoint in the middle of it. Again, mere coincidence. Just like it’s a mere coincidence that she goes into labor the same day as a massacre that killed 120 people. As coincidences do.
Roma isn’t an aggressively bad film. There are a rare few moments within Roma’s 2-hour runtime where you think, “I can see that clip showing up during a Facebook video binge,” but again: These are moments more rare than our current president ordering a rare steak. That rarity has everything to do with the fact that the movie has so few moments, at all. The rest is shots that linger too long from angles that repeat themselves all too often. It’s like Cuarón asked someone, “What does a movie like Juno need to be better?” They responded, “Nothing.” So Cuarón packed Roma with nothing.
Which brings up one of my biggest criticisms of Roma: The cinematography is bland. Cuarón shot practically the entire film on one camera, set a specific distance from the subject, and kept takes running as longer than they should have, padding out a short-film’s worth of content to feature length. It’s bland cinematography that somehow earned an Oscar for Best Cinematography.
Gravity showed us what Cuarón was capable of. Beyond bringing a seemingly authentic view of space to the big screen, Gravity offered variety. Yes, the huge collision scene in Gravity takes on the feel of a one-take scene, but even then, the camera moves with the action. And if your attention moves away from the foreground the shot, you’re able to see other important things going on. With Roma, though, your foreground is your film. Period. And to be sure, you'll be kept at arm's length from that foreground at all times, both metaphorically and cinematically.
There's a number of reasons why Roma wasn't the Best Picture, this year. Gravity proved that Roma is not Cuarón’s best film. Bo Burnham–yes, that Bo Burnham–wrote and directed a better slice-of-life film with Eighth Grade. And Roma might not even be the past year’s best black-and-white film; I dare suggest that Cold War may have been better.
To give it the credit it’s due, Roma’s cast rightly earned nominations for their performances. Yalitza Aparicio and Marina de Tavira earned Best Actress nominations for their roles, and for their part, their performances were authentic as can be. It's the least the Academy could do for having them endure Cuarón's lengthy takes.
But now that I've given it credit, I demand my time back for the scene of Fermín going Star Wars Kid meets Full Monty.
Lee (2222 KP) rated Wonder Woman (2017) in Movies
Jul 14, 2017
After a pretty lengthy drought, we finally get another decent DC movie
As the DC TV universe continues to go from strength to strength, the DC movie universe is gradually going downhill. Don’t get me wrong, I really liked Man of Steel, despite the overloaded CGI destruction at the end. I didn’t mind Batman Vs Superman either, even with Jesse Eisenberg doing his very best to try and ruin it. But, despite successfully introducing two other major DC heavyweight characters (and not so successfully introducing a few others) and picking up steam in the final act, the movie struggled. Suicide Squad then managed to take bad to a completely new level, and was just a complete train-wreck.
Batman Vs Superman was our first introduction to Wonder Woman in the DC movie universe, and she was the most entertaining and promising aspect of the whole movie. As a child of the 70s, I grew up watching and enjoying the Wonder Woman TV show, along with re-runs of the Batman 60s show and of course the Christopher Reeve Superman movies. After all these years of countless Batman and Superman movies, it was great to not only see Wonder Woman finally on the big screen, but also to see her being portrayed so well. Now, with her standalone movie coming out a few months before the mediocre looking Justice League movie, this is not only an important movie for DC but also an important first step in finally bringing strong female superheroes to the big screen. Paving the way for Captain Marvel, a Black Widow standalone movie, and more. This had to be good.
Thankfully, it is. Although there’s still a long way to go in order to reach the level that Marvel already managed to achieve many movies ago, this is indeed a serious step up for DC. Opening with a brief scene set in present day, Wonder Woman then takes us back to Themyscira. A paradise island, hidden from view from the rest of the world, where a young Diana lives peacefully among her Amazon tribe. Despite their peaceful existence though, the Amazons are constantly preparing themselves for the return of Ares, God of War. Archery and combat training is undertaken daily on the island, under the guidance of Dianas aunt, General Antiope (Robin Wright). Diana is keen to train too and her reluctant mother, Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen), eventually agrees, requesting that General Antiope train her hard and make her the best. As Diana grows into a woman, training has clearly gone well and she’s even managing to give her aunt a good run for her money! Just in time too as World War 1 pilot Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) crashes through the invisible barrier cloaking the island and crash lands into the sea, closely followed by a bunch of Germans who are on his tail. Time for the Amazon women to put their training to good use, but not without some casualties…
Steve tells Diana of the great war that’s raging throughout the world and Diana believes this to be the return of Ares. She decides to leave her home and travel with Steve to put an end to Ares once and for all. So, she grabs her shield and lasso of truth and ‘borrows’ the sacred ‘God Killer’ sword from the tower it rests in and off they go. Leaving behind the bright, vibrant island of Themyscira and returning to the traditional, dark grey pallet of colours that we’re used to seeing in our DC movies as they head to war-torn London.
Steve takes over as charming tour guide as Diana enters the human world for the first time. Her innocence and curiosity of the modern world are played beautifully by Gadot, with plenty of fish-out-of-water style humour too. But she’s also never afraid to question and stand up for what she believes in and tackle those who try and oppose her, giving an interesting perspective on aspects of humanity which deserve to be questioned. Her drive to get to the front-line of war, to seek out Ares and supposedly end all war by defeating him, constantly driving her forward. Romance eventually blossoms between Diana and Steve, but it feels natural and believable and helps to hold the movie together during some of its slower moments.
When Wonder Woman manages to get to the front line and steps out into no-mans land, ignoring the advice of Steve and those around her, it’s magnificent. It heralds the first in a series of magnificent action sequences involving German soldiers as she puts her training to good use. Initially shielding herself from the onslaught of bullets before moving onto the offensive with some bad-ass combat moves, slo-mo back-flips, jumps, whip action and displays of pure power and strength. Everything we got a glimpse of in Batman Vs Superman, ramped up to the max, perfectly executed and accompanied by a rocking soundtrack!
Where Wonder Woman doesn’t work so well is in the handling of its villains. Whenever we switch to General Ludendorff and Doctor Poison, busily developing deadly gases to unleash, momentum seems to be lost. And as for Ares, when we do finally meet him he’s pretty laughable, with no clearly defined motivation or character. Following a bit of villain monologue, we get the general gist of what his beef is and then the last 20 minutes or so descend into the over the top CG destruction that we’re so used to seeing now in these movies. It’s a minor gripe, and not handled as badly as some previous movies, but along with the pacing issues it does affect the overall enjoyment of the movie somewhat.
None of this detracts from Wonder Woman herself though. Gal Gadot has truly made this role her own and displays the perfect mix of strength, beauty, brains, confidence, determination and general all-round girl power. She can more than hold her own in the DC universe and should hopefully be a prominent force in the upcoming Justice League movie and beyond.
Batman Vs Superman was our first introduction to Wonder Woman in the DC movie universe, and she was the most entertaining and promising aspect of the whole movie. As a child of the 70s, I grew up watching and enjoying the Wonder Woman TV show, along with re-runs of the Batman 60s show and of course the Christopher Reeve Superman movies. After all these years of countless Batman and Superman movies, it was great to not only see Wonder Woman finally on the big screen, but also to see her being portrayed so well. Now, with her standalone movie coming out a few months before the mediocre looking Justice League movie, this is not only an important movie for DC but also an important first step in finally bringing strong female superheroes to the big screen. Paving the way for Captain Marvel, a Black Widow standalone movie, and more. This had to be good.
Thankfully, it is. Although there’s still a long way to go in order to reach the level that Marvel already managed to achieve many movies ago, this is indeed a serious step up for DC. Opening with a brief scene set in present day, Wonder Woman then takes us back to Themyscira. A paradise island, hidden from view from the rest of the world, where a young Diana lives peacefully among her Amazon tribe. Despite their peaceful existence though, the Amazons are constantly preparing themselves for the return of Ares, God of War. Archery and combat training is undertaken daily on the island, under the guidance of Dianas aunt, General Antiope (Robin Wright). Diana is keen to train too and her reluctant mother, Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen), eventually agrees, requesting that General Antiope train her hard and make her the best. As Diana grows into a woman, training has clearly gone well and she’s even managing to give her aunt a good run for her money! Just in time too as World War 1 pilot Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) crashes through the invisible barrier cloaking the island and crash lands into the sea, closely followed by a bunch of Germans who are on his tail. Time for the Amazon women to put their training to good use, but not without some casualties…
Steve tells Diana of the great war that’s raging throughout the world and Diana believes this to be the return of Ares. She decides to leave her home and travel with Steve to put an end to Ares once and for all. So, she grabs her shield and lasso of truth and ‘borrows’ the sacred ‘God Killer’ sword from the tower it rests in and off they go. Leaving behind the bright, vibrant island of Themyscira and returning to the traditional, dark grey pallet of colours that we’re used to seeing in our DC movies as they head to war-torn London.
Steve takes over as charming tour guide as Diana enters the human world for the first time. Her innocence and curiosity of the modern world are played beautifully by Gadot, with plenty of fish-out-of-water style humour too. But she’s also never afraid to question and stand up for what she believes in and tackle those who try and oppose her, giving an interesting perspective on aspects of humanity which deserve to be questioned. Her drive to get to the front-line of war, to seek out Ares and supposedly end all war by defeating him, constantly driving her forward. Romance eventually blossoms between Diana and Steve, but it feels natural and believable and helps to hold the movie together during some of its slower moments.
When Wonder Woman manages to get to the front line and steps out into no-mans land, ignoring the advice of Steve and those around her, it’s magnificent. It heralds the first in a series of magnificent action sequences involving German soldiers as she puts her training to good use. Initially shielding herself from the onslaught of bullets before moving onto the offensive with some bad-ass combat moves, slo-mo back-flips, jumps, whip action and displays of pure power and strength. Everything we got a glimpse of in Batman Vs Superman, ramped up to the max, perfectly executed and accompanied by a rocking soundtrack!
Where Wonder Woman doesn’t work so well is in the handling of its villains. Whenever we switch to General Ludendorff and Doctor Poison, busily developing deadly gases to unleash, momentum seems to be lost. And as for Ares, when we do finally meet him he’s pretty laughable, with no clearly defined motivation or character. Following a bit of villain monologue, we get the general gist of what his beef is and then the last 20 minutes or so descend into the over the top CG destruction that we’re so used to seeing now in these movies. It’s a minor gripe, and not handled as badly as some previous movies, but along with the pacing issues it does affect the overall enjoyment of the movie somewhat.
None of this detracts from Wonder Woman herself though. Gal Gadot has truly made this role her own and displays the perfect mix of strength, beauty, brains, confidence, determination and general all-round girl power. She can more than hold her own in the DC universe and should hopefully be a prominent force in the upcoming Justice League movie and beyond.
Kirk Bage (1775 KP) rated Roma (2018) in Movies
Mar 2, 2020 (Updated Mar 3, 2020)
I watched Roma exactly a week ago today. And although I knew 20 minutes in that I loved it, and at the end that I really loved it, I have taken that time to let it settle within me in before coming to write about it. Some films are so good that you have to do that: let it sink into you fully, before doing anything so trivial as judging and comparing them. Roma is incomparable! I have never seen anything like it, or felt as deeply moved by a film in a long time.
Not that it didn’t get attention at the time of its release, it did, receiving 10 Oscar nominations and winning 3, for best foreign language film, director and cinematography, but it certainly wasn’t seen by as many people as it should have been, despite its presence on Netflix from the start. Having digested it now, and spending some time reading about how and why it was made, I feel a slight mission to recommend it to as many people as I can.
Based on Alfonso Cuarón’s own childhood in Mexico City, and his memories of his family and especially their housemaid, Liboria (Libo) Rodriguez, to whom the film is dedicated, it is a masterpiece labour of love that few directors ever achieve or even attempt to make. After a strong career of exceptional films, including Y Tu Mamá También, Children of Men and Gravity, it was the box office and critical success of the latter that gave Cuarón carte blanche to go and make whatever project he chose. Where many might have been tempted by the big money of superhero or fantasy movies (for which he had some experience with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban) he went back to his roots and shot a very personal non-English film, in black and white, where no music exists except that which occurs naturally, and on the surface not much happens.
At least it feels like not much is happening, such is the naturalistic, almost improvised (although it wasn’t) style and pace; shot with a lens capturing detail and nuance with some of the most beautiful photography I have ever had the privilege to see. Truly, an awful lot is happening, but you have to feel and experience it, not simply be told it by the narrative. It takes a while for our Hollywood conditioned brains to accept this at first, and many might come to it and give up half an hour in because of that challenge. I can promise, however, there is not a single thing boring about this film, unless humanity is boring.
Oscar nominated lead Yalitza Aparicio as the shy, loving maid, Cleo, was not an actor before this film. She auditioned and was hand picked by Cuarón from hundreds of young women, without knowing who he was or what the film was about. Apparently, the film was shot in sequence so as not to confuse her emotionally on her extraordinary journey. She is so unassuming and natural that part of you falls in love with her immediately. In time, we almost come to forget we are watching an act at all, and almost become her, such is the empathy she evokes.
Which isn’t an easy ride, as we watch her be gently and then cruelly ignored, mistreated and used; climaxing in one of the most astonishingly painful and jaw-dropping scenes imaginable, and then a scene of such powerful redemption and humanity it instantly breaks the heart and lifts the soul. All the while she never asks for attention or love, but is just herself: a young woman living a difficult but beautiful life in a country and time full of turmoil, prejudice and social change.
The recreation of Mexico in 1970 is so breathtaking, it is hard to imagine at times we are not watching a documentary from that era. But, it is the detail the lens chooses to capture that reminds you this is a visual poem and a love-letter to a time, a place and a family far away in history and the memory of one man (represented by ten year old Carlos Peralta as Paco). At times it evokes the work of the very greatest film artists of all time: Bergman, Fellini, Hitchcock etc. Not one image is wasted or insignificant, from the reflection of the sky in water, to the dog-shit constantly lining the driveway. Everything is chosen and meaningful in the full context of the work.
There is no awkward exposition, no dramatic moments milked for all they are worth, no sequences of heightened excitement that manipulate us; simply truthful moments that hang in the air for what they are, leaving us to decide how we relate to them without ever preaching or teaching us how. In that way, it is a work of such maturity that I doubt many living directors could emulate it at all. The closest comparison I can think of is the personal passion Spielberg put into Shindler’s List, but really it is a moot comparison, and in fact owes much more to films like Haneke’s The White Ribbon.
Can it be faulted? Well, yes, certainly. But, honestly, I don’t see the point in trying. It is as close to perfection a small story of this kind can be. Importantly, I think it is an open film, that allows us to take from it whatever we like, relating to our own experiences and cares. For me, it said that any pain and hardship can be overcome, as long as there is love and beauty walking by its side. A message of no small importance. If you haven’t seen it, I urge you to do so. If you have, then please keep spreading the word. I believe it to be a genuine classic that will endure the criticism of many decades to come. Without a doubt in my mind something very special indeed.
Not that it didn’t get attention at the time of its release, it did, receiving 10 Oscar nominations and winning 3, for best foreign language film, director and cinematography, but it certainly wasn’t seen by as many people as it should have been, despite its presence on Netflix from the start. Having digested it now, and spending some time reading about how and why it was made, I feel a slight mission to recommend it to as many people as I can.
Based on Alfonso Cuarón’s own childhood in Mexico City, and his memories of his family and especially their housemaid, Liboria (Libo) Rodriguez, to whom the film is dedicated, it is a masterpiece labour of love that few directors ever achieve or even attempt to make. After a strong career of exceptional films, including Y Tu Mamá También, Children of Men and Gravity, it was the box office and critical success of the latter that gave Cuarón carte blanche to go and make whatever project he chose. Where many might have been tempted by the big money of superhero or fantasy movies (for which he had some experience with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban) he went back to his roots and shot a very personal non-English film, in black and white, where no music exists except that which occurs naturally, and on the surface not much happens.
At least it feels like not much is happening, such is the naturalistic, almost improvised (although it wasn’t) style and pace; shot with a lens capturing detail and nuance with some of the most beautiful photography I have ever had the privilege to see. Truly, an awful lot is happening, but you have to feel and experience it, not simply be told it by the narrative. It takes a while for our Hollywood conditioned brains to accept this at first, and many might come to it and give up half an hour in because of that challenge. I can promise, however, there is not a single thing boring about this film, unless humanity is boring.
Oscar nominated lead Yalitza Aparicio as the shy, loving maid, Cleo, was not an actor before this film. She auditioned and was hand picked by Cuarón from hundreds of young women, without knowing who he was or what the film was about. Apparently, the film was shot in sequence so as not to confuse her emotionally on her extraordinary journey. She is so unassuming and natural that part of you falls in love with her immediately. In time, we almost come to forget we are watching an act at all, and almost become her, such is the empathy she evokes.
Which isn’t an easy ride, as we watch her be gently and then cruelly ignored, mistreated and used; climaxing in one of the most astonishingly painful and jaw-dropping scenes imaginable, and then a scene of such powerful redemption and humanity it instantly breaks the heart and lifts the soul. All the while she never asks for attention or love, but is just herself: a young woman living a difficult but beautiful life in a country and time full of turmoil, prejudice and social change.
The recreation of Mexico in 1970 is so breathtaking, it is hard to imagine at times we are not watching a documentary from that era. But, it is the detail the lens chooses to capture that reminds you this is a visual poem and a love-letter to a time, a place and a family far away in history and the memory of one man (represented by ten year old Carlos Peralta as Paco). At times it evokes the work of the very greatest film artists of all time: Bergman, Fellini, Hitchcock etc. Not one image is wasted or insignificant, from the reflection of the sky in water, to the dog-shit constantly lining the driveway. Everything is chosen and meaningful in the full context of the work.
There is no awkward exposition, no dramatic moments milked for all they are worth, no sequences of heightened excitement that manipulate us; simply truthful moments that hang in the air for what they are, leaving us to decide how we relate to them without ever preaching or teaching us how. In that way, it is a work of such maturity that I doubt many living directors could emulate it at all. The closest comparison I can think of is the personal passion Spielberg put into Shindler’s List, but really it is a moot comparison, and in fact owes much more to films like Haneke’s The White Ribbon.
Can it be faulted? Well, yes, certainly. But, honestly, I don’t see the point in trying. It is as close to perfection a small story of this kind can be. Importantly, I think it is an open film, that allows us to take from it whatever we like, relating to our own experiences and cares. For me, it said that any pain and hardship can be overcome, as long as there is love and beauty walking by its side. A message of no small importance. If you haven’t seen it, I urge you to do so. If you have, then please keep spreading the word. I believe it to be a genuine classic that will endure the criticism of many decades to come. Without a doubt in my mind something very special indeed.
Mandy and G.D. Burkhead (26 KP) rated Hottest Blood: The Ultimate in Erotic Horror in Books
May 20, 2018
Shelf Life – Hottest Blood: The Ultimate in Erotic Horror is Neither of Those Things
(I’m gonna go ahead and throw a disclaimer on up here: You are about to read something that deals with purportedly “erotic” subject matter. If you don’t like the sound of that word, you might wanna go elsewhere. If it’s actually-erotic things that offend you, though, you’ll be fine.)
I like short story compilations because you get a variety of content that’s just as easy to breeze through if you have the time as it is to get to a stopping point and put down if you don’t. I like horror fiction because it usually involves the super-natural, which interests me, and intense emotional responses, which are almost always a good thing in writing. And I like eroticism because I am a warm-blooded human being with a pulse. However, on the whole, I do not like Hottest Blood.
I wanted to, I did. Look at that cover. It’s equal amounts scary and sexy, both in completely safe, PG-13-at-most kind of ways. Unfortunately, Softcore Succubus here is both the scariest and the sexiest thing about this book
Bluntly analogized, you know that feeling you get when you come across something on the internet that disturbs and/or disgusts you, and then you learn that there’s a dedicated group of people that gets off on it? Most of the stories in this book are that feeling captured in words.
Case in point, the story “Damaged Goods” by Elizabeth Massie, which as far as I can tell is about a couple of physically abused, emotionally damaged, developmentally stunted kids somewhere around their early teens who live with a religious fringe cult being led out to a field to have sex with each other while a nameless U.S. President watches and masturbates before both kids are drowned in a river by their preacher/pimp caretaker.
Or there’s “Mr. Right” by Chris Lacher, which tells the story of a college student named Russ who has a secret fetish for the deformed women in the freak show at a nearby carnival – a fascination which leads to him getting held down and forcibly raped by a group of unwashed subhuman mutants, which the detailed descriptions make sure you understand are completely revolting to all five senses. The story ends with him being dumped out behind the fairgrounds while a small, legless girl happily informs him that this is how all carnival workers reproduce, and he can look forward to seeing his own mutant rape-spawn in the show next year.
Or there’s “Abuse” by Matthew Costello, which simply shows us how the arrest of a Peewee Herman surrogate goes down in an adult movie theater before ending with another man jerking off with the cold, dry, severed hand in his pocket as he contemplates getting a new one to replace it.
The tone of these three are pretty much par for the course for the rest of the book: thoroughly disturbing, and sex is involved, but the disturbing feeling stems from revulsion rather than fear, and the sex bits are so far on the other end of the spectrum from erotic that it feels like the authors are trying to punish their readers for even expecting to be aroused in any way.
Of course, I said myself earlier that intense emotional responses are “almost always a good thing in writing.” By that merit alone, this book technically succeeds; in fact, if it had billed itself as shock fiction instead of erotic horror, I’d begrudgingly give it a medal in its class. The “aw, what the hell?!” moments are not as artistically executed as, say, a Chuck Palahniuk read, and they tend not to have as much depth to them, but strictly in terms of making you wish that you could unread words, they get the job done.
But that isn’t the job that Hottest Blood was hired to do, and that’s not what it put on its resume. It said it was going to “heat the blood and chill the mind,” and promised that “terror never felt this sexy!” It would have been more appropriate to say that “sex never felt this terrible.”
All of that said, if you abandon any hope of seeing anything resembling erotica or horror (scary horror, anyway), there are a few stories in here that are decent reads – mostly because they try to say something with their subject matter rather than use it to see how thoroughly they can ruin the idea of sex for the reader. To give a few quick nods of approval:
Nancy Holder’s “I Hear the Mermaids Singing,” which opens the anthology, is a dark and modern re-imagining of “The Little Mermaid” that brutally points up the drawbacks to throwing away your whole life and family in order to pursue someone that you know nothing about outside of a few fleeting glimpses and lustful inner fantasies.
J.L. Comeau’s “Black Cars” is the narrative of a high-class chauffeur as he tells his passenger an increasingly mysterious story about a couple of his regular customers, culminating in a creepy twist payoff that, in retrospect, actually makes it count as a legitimate horror story, and a decently gripping one at that.
And “Safe at Home” by Steve and Melanie Tem, while decidedly and disturbingly unsexy, at least has good reason to be; it’s a short character study of a young woman who’d been molested as a child, and the lasting and complex psychological damage resulting thereof that prevents her from having any normal social life or relationships, even with someone whom she legitimately likes, someone who knows what’s happened and sincerely cares for her.
So for the handful of intriguing stories that don’t make you quit (or wish you had) mid-read out of revolted disappointment, I can’t completely condemn Hottest Blood. If you want to test your own threshold for repulsion but are understandably hesitant to use online image searches to this end, I heartily recommend it.
If you are legitimately turned on by the idea of a man eating a woman alive and then gestating her alien spawn inside his own bloated body until his head detaches and crawls away (“How Deep the Taste of Love,” John Shirley), I suppose I still heartily recommend it, though I do so from a safe distance.
If you want to read one of the few stories involved that aren’t horrible, I heartily recommend trying to find them on their own somewhere else first.
But if you want “the ultimate in erotic horror,” stay the hell away. Softcore Succubus is a trap.
I like short story compilations because you get a variety of content that’s just as easy to breeze through if you have the time as it is to get to a stopping point and put down if you don’t. I like horror fiction because it usually involves the super-natural, which interests me, and intense emotional responses, which are almost always a good thing in writing. And I like eroticism because I am a warm-blooded human being with a pulse. However, on the whole, I do not like Hottest Blood.
I wanted to, I did. Look at that cover. It’s equal amounts scary and sexy, both in completely safe, PG-13-at-most kind of ways. Unfortunately, Softcore Succubus here is both the scariest and the sexiest thing about this book
Bluntly analogized, you know that feeling you get when you come across something on the internet that disturbs and/or disgusts you, and then you learn that there’s a dedicated group of people that gets off on it? Most of the stories in this book are that feeling captured in words.
Case in point, the story “Damaged Goods” by Elizabeth Massie, which as far as I can tell is about a couple of physically abused, emotionally damaged, developmentally stunted kids somewhere around their early teens who live with a religious fringe cult being led out to a field to have sex with each other while a nameless U.S. President watches and masturbates before both kids are drowned in a river by their preacher/pimp caretaker.
Or there’s “Mr. Right” by Chris Lacher, which tells the story of a college student named Russ who has a secret fetish for the deformed women in the freak show at a nearby carnival – a fascination which leads to him getting held down and forcibly raped by a group of unwashed subhuman mutants, which the detailed descriptions make sure you understand are completely revolting to all five senses. The story ends with him being dumped out behind the fairgrounds while a small, legless girl happily informs him that this is how all carnival workers reproduce, and he can look forward to seeing his own mutant rape-spawn in the show next year.
Or there’s “Abuse” by Matthew Costello, which simply shows us how the arrest of a Peewee Herman surrogate goes down in an adult movie theater before ending with another man jerking off with the cold, dry, severed hand in his pocket as he contemplates getting a new one to replace it.
The tone of these three are pretty much par for the course for the rest of the book: thoroughly disturbing, and sex is involved, but the disturbing feeling stems from revulsion rather than fear, and the sex bits are so far on the other end of the spectrum from erotic that it feels like the authors are trying to punish their readers for even expecting to be aroused in any way.
Of course, I said myself earlier that intense emotional responses are “almost always a good thing in writing.” By that merit alone, this book technically succeeds; in fact, if it had billed itself as shock fiction instead of erotic horror, I’d begrudgingly give it a medal in its class. The “aw, what the hell?!” moments are not as artistically executed as, say, a Chuck Palahniuk read, and they tend not to have as much depth to them, but strictly in terms of making you wish that you could unread words, they get the job done.
But that isn’t the job that Hottest Blood was hired to do, and that’s not what it put on its resume. It said it was going to “heat the blood and chill the mind,” and promised that “terror never felt this sexy!” It would have been more appropriate to say that “sex never felt this terrible.”
All of that said, if you abandon any hope of seeing anything resembling erotica or horror (scary horror, anyway), there are a few stories in here that are decent reads – mostly because they try to say something with their subject matter rather than use it to see how thoroughly they can ruin the idea of sex for the reader. To give a few quick nods of approval:
Nancy Holder’s “I Hear the Mermaids Singing,” which opens the anthology, is a dark and modern re-imagining of “The Little Mermaid” that brutally points up the drawbacks to throwing away your whole life and family in order to pursue someone that you know nothing about outside of a few fleeting glimpses and lustful inner fantasies.
J.L. Comeau’s “Black Cars” is the narrative of a high-class chauffeur as he tells his passenger an increasingly mysterious story about a couple of his regular customers, culminating in a creepy twist payoff that, in retrospect, actually makes it count as a legitimate horror story, and a decently gripping one at that.
And “Safe at Home” by Steve and Melanie Tem, while decidedly and disturbingly unsexy, at least has good reason to be; it’s a short character study of a young woman who’d been molested as a child, and the lasting and complex psychological damage resulting thereof that prevents her from having any normal social life or relationships, even with someone whom she legitimately likes, someone who knows what’s happened and sincerely cares for her.
So for the handful of intriguing stories that don’t make you quit (or wish you had) mid-read out of revolted disappointment, I can’t completely condemn Hottest Blood. If you want to test your own threshold for repulsion but are understandably hesitant to use online image searches to this end, I heartily recommend it.
If you are legitimately turned on by the idea of a man eating a woman alive and then gestating her alien spawn inside his own bloated body until his head detaches and crawls away (“How Deep the Taste of Love,” John Shirley), I suppose I still heartily recommend it, though I do so from a safe distance.
If you want to read one of the few stories involved that aren’t horrible, I heartily recommend trying to find them on their own somewhere else first.
But if you want “the ultimate in erotic horror,” stay the hell away. Softcore Succubus is a trap.
Lee (2222 KP) Dec 4, 2019
Sarah (7798 KP) Dec 4, 2019